


Dad, I Don't Feel Good

by StephirothWasTaken



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Baby Prompto Argentum, Clarus is not very sympathetic, Emetophobia, Gen, It's not as gross as I was going to originally make it, Parent Cor Leonis, Sick Prompto Argentum, Sickfic, That's the fear of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StephirothWasTaken/pseuds/StephirothWasTaken
Summary: Prompto falls ill, and it involves the one thing that Cor the Immortal can't handle: vomit.





	Dad, I Don't Feel Good

**Author's Note:**

> I got sick, so I decided to make a story about vomit. I should really have been working on other things, though.
> 
> I’m not 100% sure this counts as emetophobia, but that’s what I’m calling it, anyway.  
> Cor’s gonna act a little weird because of it.

“Dad, I don’t feel good.”  
  
Cor felt his stomach flip at little Prompto’s words. He knew from experience that it was already too late when the kid said that, and he braced himself for the inevitable.  
  
Prompto hurled, and then, there was a loud, wet _splat._  
  
Cor shuddered. He held his breath, and he cupped his hands over his mouth and nose.  
  
Not for the first time, Cor lamented the lack of a window in his office. He wanted to climb out of a window, taking the boy with him. There was only one exit out of his office, and he knew he was going to have to look at it to flee the room or else risk stepping right into it and causing further problems for himself.  
  
Besides that, the smell was going to linger for a long time because he won’t be able to air out the room.  
  
Then, Prompto cried.  
  
“Daddy, I’m sorry.”  
  
Cor’s heart sank at the sound. He reminded himself that he was the adult here, and he had already dealt with—  
  
Cor banished that thought from his head immediately before his imagination made everything even worse. Instead, he started a mantra in his head:  
  
_You can do this. You can do this. You can do this._  
  
Cor spun in his office chair. He tried to avoid looking at it, but he saw it anyway. It was a pinkish fluid with chunks of O-shaped pasta and half-chewed meatballs. Some had gotten on the seat of the chair Prompto had been sitting in while “helping” Cor do his paperwork.  
  
Cor felt his mouth fill with saliva at the sight of it, and he gagged. He forced himself to swallow to keep his own dinner in his stomach.  
  
That kid was going to have live without and meatballs for a while.  
  
Hoping the poor kid had not seen his reaction, Cor hopped out of his chair, and he stepped around the vomit to get to Prompto, who, Cor now realized, had some of the pinkish substance all over his chin and on his shirt.  
  
“It’s all right,” Cor said, but his voice was strained as he tried not to breathe in the impending odor. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
Cor lifted the kid onto his hip, and he rushed out of the room, closing the door behind him to keep the smell from filling the rest of the apartment. Prompto continued to sob, rubbing snot—and that stuff Cor did not want to think about at that moment—all over Cor’s shoulder. He took the kid into the bathroom, rubbing his back until he could set him back onto his feet.  
  
Prompto had been wearing his favorite Chocobo print pajamas, the one with the typical bright yellow chocobos that reminded Prompto of his own golden hair. Cor helped Prompto take off the shirt, and he wiped off Prompto’s mouth with it.  
  
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling good,” Cor said. “We’ll get you to feeling better, okay?”  
  
Prompto hiccupped as he tried to calm himself, and he rubbed at his eyes with little fists.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said between sobs.  
  
“Hey, it’s not your fault. We all get sick, Prompto.”  
  
Cor swept aside Prompto’s blond hair, and he pressed his hand to his forehead. The kid was too warm.  
  
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll head to bed. Sound good?”  
  
A few final fat tears slid down Prompto’s face, but he nodded.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Cor helped Prompto wash his face and brush his teeth to get the nasty taste out of his mouth. Prompto held onto Cor’s hand—or rather a finger because the boy was so small compared to Cor—and they went to the laundry room together. The kid was breathing normally by the time they got there.  
  
Cor helped Prompto out of the rest of his pajamas. Then he tossed them and his own shirt into the washing machine, and once he got the machine going, he went to the drier, where he found a pile of all black T-shirts waiting to be folded. He helped Prompto into one of the shirts, and the boy giggled as he took in how big it was on himself. The short sleeves went past his elbows, his shoulder hung out of the collar, and the bottom went past his knees.  
  
They stopped by the fridge to grab a sports drink, which Cor made sure to put in a spill-proof sippy cup. They went to Prompto’s room. Chocobo and Moogle toys littered the floor, and Cor just nudged them aside with his feet as they walked, choosing to worry about cleaning it up later.  
  
Prompto crawled onto his Chocobo-themed toddler bed, and Cor crouched down as he handed him the sippy cup.  
  
“Take a few drinks of that, Prom. It’ll help keep you from feeling worse.”  
  
Prompto took a sip while looking up at Cor through his blue, red-rimmed eyes. He wrinkled his freckled nose at the taste of it, but he drank it, anyway.  
  
“I’ll put on your music for you,” Cor said, “so you can sleep.”  
  
“Can I seep in your bed?” Prompto asked, but his voice was so quiet.  
  
Cor recalled how his friend Clarus had been telling him to get the kid used to sleeping by himself. Prompto had not taken to it well at first, crying until Cor would eventually give in. The vast amounts of plushies in the room had helped him feel more comfortable with it, but now Prompto had the perfect excuse to get back into an old habit.  
  
And it was impossible to resist those teary eyes pleading with him.  
  
Cor ruffled the boy’s blond hair.  
  
“Yeah, okay, but just for tonight.”  
  
_And probably tomorrow night,_ Cor kept to himself.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Who do you want to take with you?”  
  
Prompto looked around the room, and when he spotted what he wanted, he climbed out of his bed and crossed the room toward it. It was a big yellow Chocobo chick plushie that was half the size of Prompto. He went back to Cor.  
  
“Boco,” he said.  
  
“That his name?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Cor grabbed Prompto's hand. He made sure to grab Prompto’s sleepytime CD and the sports drink before they went to Cor's room, passing the accursed office along the way.  
  
His room was the smallest of the bedrooms, and he had artwork, which was mostly landscapes of a few well-known places in Lucis, lining the wall. His friends had given them to him throughout the years because he could not be bothered to decorate his apartment himself. There was a large bed covered in black bedding. Some of Prompto's toys had migrated their way into the room, but Cor would deal with that later.  
  
Cor lifted Prompto and Boco onto the bed. He dug his fingers into the little boy’s ribs until he giggled, clutching his toy tighter to himself and twisting away.  
“This better?” Cor asked.  
  
Prompto peered at Cor over his Chocobo. His eyes were still red from crying, and he seemed to struggle to keep them open.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Cor tucked Prompto under the covers, and he ruffled his hair.  
  
“I gotta clean up the office, and then I’ll be right back, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Now, Boco,” Cor said, poking the Chocobo plushie on the nose, “I’m counting on you to watch over Prompto while I’m gone, all right?  
  
“ _Don’t worry_ ’” Cor added in a silly voice. “ _I’ll keep him safe_.”  
  
Prompto giggled. Cor kissed him on the forehead—too warm forehead—and then he put Prompto’s CD into his stereo across the room, making sure it was at a lower volume before allowing it to play. A woman’s voice played through the speakers. It was an old Altissian lullaby.  
  
When Cor went to check on Prompto, his eyes were already closed, and his grip on Boco had already loosened. He left the boy alone in the room, leaving the door open so he would be able to hear the kid having a nightmare if he did have one.  
  
Cor went into the kitchen to find the cleaning supplies he would need. He paused in front of the office door, but the idea of going into that room and seeing those chunks of canned pasta on the floor made him feel queasy.  
  
_You can do this. You can do this. You can do this._  
  
Cor took a deep breath of the non-vomit-smelling air, and then he went into his office. The mess was somehow not as large as he remembered. It was on the seat of the chair Prompto had been sitting in, but the puddle of the floor was only about a foot long. He dumped an overly generous amount of baking soda onto the chair and floor, and then he placed the other cleaning supplies on the floor as he ran out of the room.  
  
Once he was in the hallway again and the door shut behind him, Cor took a gasping breath, and his heart was pumping a little faster at the unnecessary amount of frantic energy he had just put into dumping powder all over that mess.  
  
Cor would need to wait a few minutes for the baking soda to dry up the vomit, and he realized he was going to need to call Clarus either to have his chamberlain look after Prompto—something that would make Prompto happy because he loved Jared and Clarus’s boy—or tell him that he could not come to work until Prompto was better.  
Cor went into the living to find a handset, and it was sitting beside its charging port. He had Clarus’s phone number memorized, and his friend sounded panicked when he answered:  
  
“Cor? What is it? What happened?”  
  
“Prompto got sick.”  
  
There was a pause.  
  
“How sick?” Clarus asked, sounding less panicked but still weary.  
  
“He seems mostly okay for someone who threw up his dinner all over the floor.”  
  
There was another pause.  
  
“You called my emergency phone number so I could have Jared come and clean it up for you again?”  
  
“No, not—”  
  
“Cor, I’ve seen you cut men in half from the bottom up, and you can’t even look at a little vomit.”  
  
“No, listen. I’m working on that part, okay? I just need to know if Jared could watch over Prompto while I’m at work.”  
  
Clarus sighed.  
  
“All right, but if Gladiolus gets sick because of this...”  
  
“I could always take the next few days off and leave you with all my duties to take care of.”  
  
“I always do it better.”  
  
“I believe you were the one in charge when those top secret files went missing.”  
  
“Cor, you promised you would never speak of that again.”  
  
“That’s not how I remember it.”  
  
“Oh, how very convenient for you.”  
  
“I’ll drop off Prompto at your place about an hour before work.”  
  
“Jared should be here by then.”  
  
“Yeah, I would appreciate the help.”  
  
“Be sure to let him know when you see him.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
There was yet another pause, and Cor sighed. He sat on the couch as he waited for Clarus’s barrage of advice on how to take care of Prompto.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by my grandfather, the former prison guard who also cannot handle vomit.
> 
> I meant this to be way grosser and full of more anxiety, but I guess I decided to make it fluffy instead. _shrugs_  
>  Maybe some other time.
> 
> The conversation with Clarus is actually the idea that popped into my head that started this story. When I started writing this, I realized it wasn’t really necessary to the story, but I hope it’s a nice extra, anyway.
> 
> Anyway, I have contest deadlines to meet.  
> Thank you for reading! I do appreciate feedback, if you would be further generous with your time.  
>   
> Come yell at me on social media!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/StephRitaClark)  
> [tumblr](https://stephanieritaclark.tumblr.com)  
> [Pillowfort.io](https://www.pillowfort.io/StephanieRitaClark)  
> [My own website](https://www.stephanieritaclark.com)  
> 


End file.
